Missiles flew like arrows of old, thudding into the unshielded hulls and armor belts of the Providence Dreadnought and her flanking Recusant heavy and light destroyers. Five ships, two Recusant lights hadn’t survived the duels with the Coruscanti, charging towards my inferior force in tonnage and armament. Our only advantages, we still had our shields and had local fighter supremacy after the brutal duels around of the reserve ended in a Republic victory.

  “Divert bomber detachments to the engage the enemy ships dead ahead, flight leaders may decide on either pursuing direct targets, or pressing to relieve Unit Omen, have them try and work it out among themselves. Send a fighter escort with them and divert two squadrons of bombers to make a run from below on the Sep’s second line at the point of engagement between Units Omen and Albedo Brave.” I order.

  The southern unit wasn’t making as much progress as I’d like. Apparently enemy fighter numbers were higher in the south, that was probably because the south had the second most inexperienced fighter units in the taskforce. The most inexperienced had been the Coruscanti detachment. They were all but dead now, maybe three squadrons total remaining, their duties taken over by the reserve fighters.

  “Enemy force in heavy turbolaser range.” Welder reports.

  “Incoming!” Mi-Kus barks as enemy heavy turbolasers race towards us, most missing, but a solid handful smashing against the frontal shields of my ships. The Little Revenge takes one right on the nose, the shields shuddering in response to the direct hit.

  “Bastard’s targeting us in the bridge.” I mutter. It was clear as day. We could take the hits, but in a battle like this I wouldn’t risk it, “We’re moving command to the emergency command bridge. You know procedure. Captain, lead the first party and make it snappy!”

  “On it, sir.” Mi-Kus says before snapping up the first round of techs, comms officers, the secondary navigators and helmsman, alongside a good handful of my Adjutants. The group marching out of the bridge at a quick pace and making a run for the emergency command deck. Usually it was never used, so deep in the bowels of the ship it had an extra quarter second delay on communications, for precise action it was too much, but when the enemy was looking to, how did Mi-Kus put it? Cut off the head of the snake, it was a critical place of security and safety.

  I chuckle as another heavy turbolaser smashes against the bridge shields, our medium turbolasers finally answering in return. Maker keep me, I might be getting too nonchalant about being in mortal peril. I blame that traitor Krell. Probably re-wired my brain with the head injuries and blood loss.

  Loosing an arm probably didn’t help either: “Next group, go.”

  I watch as the enemy ships take a lovely punch to the face in the form of a hundred medium turbolasers. I notice Welder, the second shift of comms officers, sensors officers alongside various technicians and systems Adjutants jump from the trenches or their stations to make their own quick march to the emergency bridge.

  “Comms intercept from the enemy. Looks like the enemy CO wants to break Unit Little Revenge here and mop up the rest after.” Slas says.

  “Pity for them.” I say calmly, “I see Units Avarice and Buckler are in position. Inform Commodores Hugh and Strom they may begin their assaults. Prioritize the Lucrehulks with their explosive charges and make the enemy suffer for their overconfidence.”

  “As you command.” A comms officer says.

  “Green light from Senior Captain Mi-Kus, emergency bridge is operational. He’s awaiting your clearance codes, sir.” Lieutenant Hursk says.

  “Very good. All remaining bridge crew., to the bunker!” I bark as I insert my codes cylinder to a port and close off the bridge. I glance back one last time before exiting behind my men, R4 beside me. The blastdoors close on the bridge. I hope nobody left anything important in there.

  It was days like this, charging an enemy which had outnumbered their forces two to one, that Faxe wondered how he had gotten here. Rendili Naval Academy had been the first step, the short stint in the defense force before getting into Carida for a Lieutenant’s commission was probably the second step.

  After that though? Almost entirely his idiot of a friend’s fault. Next time he saw the Vice Admiral would probably involve a firm pat on the back, a bottle of Rendili bourbon and a firm punch in the Fondorian’s face. It only seemed fair to the Commodore.

  “Down fifty meters, bank thirty degrees port and begin our strafing run.” The Commodore orders. Was he using his corvettes like glorified bombers? Yes. Was this his idea? Stars no! It was another karking ploy of Thraken’s. Sometimes Faxe wondered how he put up with it, especially since he usually managed to avoid the coping mechanisms of his comrades in arms. Be it Thraken’s drinking problem, Faxe couldn’t count the number of times he removed his friend from a pool of vomit on all his fingers and toes, Hugh’s … creative use of her bedroom, he shudders at the memory of barging in during her command of the squadron right after Dac, or his own Captain’s collection of rankweed cigars, they certainly could stink up a cabin.

  “Making our run.” Said Captain repeats as they double check their docking hatch clamps remotely. Only had the three chances after all.

  The skimmed over the top of the enemy Lucrehulk, the CR90 ‘Ocelot’ on their tail as they jettison the payloads, the enemy ship’s gravity and the containers’ slow movements allowing them to harmlessly enter the shields. The two Corvettes pull back into the surrounding strikecraft brawl just as the two shipping containers filled with explosives and a timed detonator explode along the Lucrehulk’s outer ring, destroying a slow light turbolaser emplacement and comms array respectively. Not to mention the holes in her hull.

  “Prepare our next run!” Faxe barks, the Helmsman already planning their route. A shipping container is snipped off of one of the other attacking corvettes by a medium turbolaser. The shot flies through the flimsy armor and the corvette jettisons the empty container into the void. That had been one of Faxe’s demands. If they were strapping poorly protected explosives to their hulls they would also have duds. Safer that way.

  “Sir, Commodore Hugh reports the destruction of enemy Lucrehulk GNS-8675309.”

  “Well let’s not let the glorified convoy escorter take the glory! Come men, another run!” He barks, the Buckler turning almost on a dime to make her second run. Faxe still hated Thraken for this, but Stars it was exhilarating if nothing else!

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  I both hate and love the emergency bridge. The safety and expansive screens and hologram displays were lovely, but there was something about gazing through a transparasteel window that just couldn’t be beat.

  “Engaging enemy Providence class dreadnought and enemy Recusant heavy in broadside action.” Mi-Kus reports calmly.

  It also made my threat assessment poorer and took us further away from any escape pods. Our bombers were doing good work and our shields were still holding, the shields shudder, for now. Meanwhile the enemy second line’s speartip was damaged, without pickets and escorts and critically low on strikecraft to hold our own from strafing their hulls and running amok through their battery emplacements, critical comms arrays and the many, many weakpoints which just couldn’t be hidden with meters of armor. So entering a broadside engagement would work out, right?

  “Reports from Units Buckler and Avarice. Enemy Lucrehulks disabled. Have begun firm engagement of enemy rear.” Lieutenant Slas reports.

  Then the enemy was down to the Providence dreadnought, two heavy Recusants, two light Recusant-

  “Far portside Recusant disabled.”

  -Make that one light Recusants, a Dreadnought, twenty six Munificents and ten Munifexes. Not to mention the rapidly dwindling droid fighter numbers and the handful of pickets remaining. Looks like the plan is working.

  A series of shudders as an enemy volley impacts us. The shield technician barking in alarm: “Shields are out!”

  We still had the Acclamator Little Spark, from my 97th O.R. Squadron, and two Pelta transports around us, but the target of the enemy’s ire was clearly my Little Revenge. The ship shudders again and I see Mi-Kus frown. No shouts of alarm, a minor hit then.

  “Enemy rear lost another Munificent.” Lieutenant Hursk mutters to himself.

  “They’re making decent progress, but it should be faster.” Another Adjutant adds.

  “Suppose the enemy shields are still active. It would slow most of the damage.” Hursk replies.

  “Even with the explosive charges being used on critical components, the pace will be too slow for us to receive any help from them.” A third Adjutant says.

  I hum as I consider the hushed conversation. I glance over the tactical display. There. I speak calmly as I give out the order: “Divert the 33rd Section of the 111th Colonies Cruiser back towards us.”

  “Orders received by Senior Captain Miller, he’s acting as quickly as possible, but warns it will take time to maneuver through the enemy formation.”

  “Time is not really something we have in abundance.” I answer the report from the comms officer, "Have him throw caution to the wind. We need speed and the violence of action. Taskforce Command override Dorn-Trill-Zenth-Oh-Niner. All power to engines and get here stat!"

  The ships shudders again as more and more cruisers go dark from the onslaught. Their shields failing and hulls suffering massive amounts of damage while they’re unable to concentrate fire or else risk hitting their own ships in the Seps’ case or being overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemy light turbolasers in our case. The enemy formation had halted for all intents and purposes, unable to move forward, or else crash into the rear of the enemy’s heavy ships my reserve was currently dueling, unable to push the flanks through the weight of their own numbers and the Republic formations, unable to come about and attempt to fall back for the corvettes, frigates and light cruisers running amok in the rear of the formation. Unable to move downwards for fear of crashing through Republic light ships, fighters and unable to return fire upwards in the case of the Munificents. Finally unable to make a run upwards for fear of leaving them open to bombardment into their weak undersides, it certainly helped that the meteor group Cresh-Aurek-N43 was finally racing a few hundred meters above us. They were trapped with no real way out.

  “Adjutants.” I say as the ship shudders again, “Look right here. The enemy failed to account for their home turf and are suffering for it. Never allow your enemy to make your terrain theirs.”

  “Is suicidal bravery another thing we should try to monopolize?” One of the Adjutants mutters.

  The ship shudders in answer as I ignore the question. The battery Adjutant speaks up then: “C-Battery just lost rotation functions. She’s stuck in position. Battery Commander refuses to evacuate, will continue to fire when possible.”

  “Very well.” I mutter coldly. Maker knew I needed the firepower.

  A lucky hit on the enemy heavy destroyer severs her engine block, making the remaining ship look weirdly proportioned as the explosion rocks it forwards, most of her shots missing her mark and either sailing into the void or the exposed hull of the Sep command ship.

  Another volley of our own turbolaser fire smashes against the hull of the enemy dreadnought and a couple shots snap the tertiary bridge off of her tower, the broken piece of the ship floating off into the void. Our own ship shudders in response.

  “Engine three just went cold.” Comes a cold report.

  “The Little Spark just took a bad hit to her hangar entrance.” Another sailor adds.

  “Confirmed by Captain Pamlo, hangar bay has been disabled.” A comms officer offers.

  I look over the tactical display. We were doing alright on destroying, disabling or incapacitating the enemy forces. Only fifteen Munificents, two Munifexes holding our rear from fully joining in pummeling the enemy capital ships.

  “Enemy heavy destroyer fully disabled.” Welder reports.

  Well, maybe we’ll only need to hold out a little longer. I was almost wished I had stayed on the bridge. I wouldn’t have to look at the casualty lists then. The ships shudders again as a tech speaks up: “Hull breach at storerooms one through three. Contents likely voided.”

  “Any chance of our shields coming back online?” I ask.

  “Not with the current level of enemy fire.” The Adjutant reports.

  “Fucking dreck.” I mutter, the ship shuddering again. Just one bad hit and we’d all be dead.

  I watch closely as more and more enemy cruisers go dark, a trio of old Fondorian Hammerheads soaring through the immobile enemy blob of ships. Any semblance of formation had been forgotten for a desperate last stand. My eyes track as the ships of my homeworld launch their proton torpedoes alongside a salvo of turbolasers to break through a damaged enemy Munificent still in their way, the ship breaking under the sustained fire and the central warship bursting through whatever was left of her central spine towards us, her sister-ships going around the corpse of the Sep ship.

  Maker sometimes I missed and envied the maneuverability of smaller ships, but Sands I wouldn’t give up my Little Revenge for anything. I hide a flinch as my darling ship shudders again under the weight of the enemy bombardment. Come on girl, just a little longer.

  “Engine one is gone, two and four disabled.”

  I watch as the Hammerhead races towards the dreadnought. A salvo of missiles emerging from her tubes, before forming a facsimile of a vanguard for the cruiser. My eyes are frozen to the small cruiser, the missiles smash into the engines of the enemy command ship, a useless target. My eyes narrow, glancing at the Hammerhead’s tag. What was Captain Miller thinking? A second glance at the ‘Desert’s Lament’ and a quick jump along the ship’s trajectory and my head tilts almost in sync with the rotation of the cruiser.

  I feel a chuckle leave me as the ship fully rotates. I double check the information and yes. The Providence class dreadnought’s primary bridge has been blown to bits by a group of Y-Wings some time ago. Meaning.

  “Well then. Mi-Kus, mark Senior Captain Miller for a service medal and promotion.” I mutter.

  “Sir?” My Captain asks, clearly confused.

  “He’s about to cut the head off the snake. Literally.” I say, as the Hammerhead’s turbolasers and proton torpedoes fire off towards the bridge stalk of the secondary bridge. They carve into the metal of the armored outer hull and the Hammerhead is close behind, adding its horizontally positioned head like an executioner’s knife, carving into the bridge stalk and bending metal until it snaps. The cut isn’t clean, but it is certainly beautiful.

  “Stars.” Mi-Kus mutters in horror, before turning to an Adjutant, “If the Vice Admiral attempts this, stun him.”

  “Come now, Captain.” I placate, “I know from trial and error that only a few ships could manage this.”

  The Providence’s fire control is completely gone, her batteries now firing off sporadically and seemingly missing quite a few shots. Meanwhile the Desert’s Lament continues her burn, righting herself and racing over the top of the Providence’s hull, before banking towards the Little Revenge. It’s only then I notice the other Hammerheads of the 33rd Section following the route of their command ship.

  The two Hammerhead cruisers launch their own payload of torpedoes and turbolasers, the ordnance smashing into the rear hull of the enemy command ship, peeling away at her armor and hull. This was something this war seemed to lack most of all, in booth sides navies. Fast cruisers, which weren’t so small and under-armed that they could barely manage anything larger than a duo of corvettes by themselves.

  And lucky me, my homeworld has a lovely supply of just such ships which the Seps didn’t seem to have a good counter for. Fondorian Hammerheads had been built to hunt down pirates after all. Speed and frontal firepower was essential for something like that, alongside heavily armored bulkheads. Though admittedly the Hammerheads had a multitude of turbolaser blind spots barely covered by various duo and trio lasercannon ball-turrets.

  However that mattered little as the two cruisers traveled along the sides of the sep’s dreadnought, turning all possible turbolaser turrets to fire directly to their sides as they do so. Briefly one of the ships crosses between us and the enemy Providence, making our own batteries hold fire for an agonizingly long thirty seconds.

  “Shields are back!” An overly happy voice barks.

  “33rd Section to go and support other formations engaged with enemy destroyers. We can hold.” I order.

  Another exchange of fire, the enemy’s weaker than ours. The Little Revenge shudders, but they are far milder than before. I look throughout the battlefield and don’t bother suppressing the growing smile on my face. Only a handful of enemy ships posing a semblance of a threat, with those dwindling with evacuations and surrenders.

  “I’m reading multiple escape pods launching from the Providence class dreadnought.” Welder reports.

  “Has the enemy attempted a formal surrender?” I ask.

  “Not yet, sir.” Lieutenant Slas reports.

  “Then continue to do due diligence. I want the enemy flagship turned to slag.” I order, the battle was basically over. Its outcome almost certain since the enemy conformed to my expectations. This was my masterpiece.